


Opened Windows

by Xparrot



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Carlos in the Desert Otherworld, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Episode: e049 Old Oak Doors Part B, Present Tense, but happy I promise!, maybe not the expected one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We need to talk, Carlos. I've been talking with Earl, and I just...I can't do this long-distance thing anymore. It's too hard, trying to be your boyfriend when I can't even hold your hand."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opened Windows

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote [my last post-OOD fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2859821) to get my feels out of the way and move on...and then couldn't let it go for twenty-four hours without wanting more resolution. Having a canon OTP is so hard, you guys. So hard!

It takes Carlos a week to complete his search of the mountain. As he reaches the ridge overlooking the vast otherworldly desert and the encampment where he began, he takes out his cellphone.

The last message in his voicemail hasn't changed in the week since Cecil left it. By now Carlos could recite it in his sleep—and has been—but he plays it anyway, one more time.

 _"Oh...Hi. Hello, Carlos, it's me."_ Under the obvious disappointment in Cecil's voice, there is tension that Carlos has a different interpretation for, every time he listens to the message. Now he thinks it sounds apprehensive. Or perhaps resigned. " _I was hoping to get you, not your voicemail. I guess you're asleep now? Or maybe doing science. Can you call me back, whenever you get this? We need to talk, Carlos. I've been talking with Earl, and I just...I can't do this long-distance thing anymore. It's too hard, trying to be your boyfriend when I can't even hold your hand. So I—oh, shoot, I have to go. I'll try to get back to you, as soon as I can,"_ and Cecil hangs up.

Cecil hasn't called back since, or answered any of Carlos's calls, or even texted. Carlos isn't surprised to get Cecil's voicemail greeting when he tries to reach him now. In the last week he's memorized every cadence of that message, too; he's ready when the tone sounds. "Cecil," he says, "I'm sorry I missed you again. Please, call me back, whenever you have the chance. I have to—I mean—"

He takes a deep breath, gulping dry air in a vain attempt to force back the lump rising in his throat. He knows he should just hang up, try again later; but his fingers are locked around his phone, pressing it to his ear so hard it hurts, and the words spill out in spite of himself. "Cecil, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I've looked for a door. The last week all I've done—except for examining the tortoise—I think it was a tortoise?—that Doug accidentally stepped on for venomous fangs, and calculating the origin of that five-meter fulgurite in case there was another storm—but all I've done otherwise is look for one of those doors. But I still haven't found any, not so much as a hinge or a lock.

"But I'm going to keep trying—or find another way, if there aren't any doors than there has to be another way. Another way back to you. I'm sorry, Cecil, I'm sorry I've been gone so long, I'm sorry it's been so hard for you. I thought it was getting better, I thought that you would've told me... But that doesn't matter; you need to do what's best for you. I understand that, of course, objectively I understand it, but—but, Cecil, please, I need—I want to talk with you. I won't try to talk you out of this, if it's what you really want, I promise. But I...I need to know that's you're okay. I haven't been able to pick up your show lately, I haven't heard your voice in a week, except on your voicemail message, and I, I miss you so much, I... I'm sorry, please, just—"

His phone beeps, and a polite electronic voice informs him, _"This voicemail box is full. To add additional space, please sacrifice eleven—"_

Carlos disconnects. He sits down on the stone outcropping behind him, puts his head in his hands and tries to remind himself that a scientist is always fine.

He does not feel fine. He does not feel much like a scientist at all right now.

Time may not be real anyway, especially in this otherworld, so Carlos isn't sure how long it is, until the murmuring of distant voices finally penetrates his despair. He lifts his head and wipes clear his eyes, looking to Doug's encampment downslope. The army has been here for a week, longer than they usually stay in one place, the whole time Carlos has been searching the mountain. Neither Doug nor Alicia nor any of the others have said anything to him in days. But Carlos has noticed at least one masked warrior always in sight on the mountainside, wherever he's gone.

Now, though, something else is happening. The warriors are congregated at the far end of the camp, though whatever they're surrounding is entirely hidden behind their massive forms. Maybe another possibly-a-tortoise? Or else some other mysterious desert phenomenon.

Usually Carlos would be jumping up excitedly, eager to join in the discovery. Now it's an effort to stand, but he makes it. Doug and his people have been good to him; he owes it to them to help out however he can. This might be a problem science can solve. And he doesn't have anything else to do now anyway.

The warriors are still gathered as Carlos reaches the bottom of the incline. A few look over as Carlos enters the camp, nod to him in unassuming welcome. No one is armed, and they don't look upset or angry, more curious. Carlos moves between their massive forms, after this long among them as unafraid as a housecat circling its owner's legs, to the middle of the crowd.

Doug is there, with Alicia, both kneeling besides something—besides someone. Not one of the warriors, but a small, fragile figure, hardly even Carlos's height. 

—So, not actually that small, Carlos realizes. If he mentally adjusts for the colossal scale set by the warriors, then this man is neither short nor tall, neither fat nor thin—

Then the newcomer turns from Alicia to look up at Doug, and the only reason Carlos doesn't fall over is thanks to Alicia's dog, who bounds up to him barking happily, and nudges him in the chest with a moist black nose the size of a bowling ball. Carlos pats the huge canine automatically, leaning on its fluffy shoulders as the man talking to Doug glances over at the noise.

He sees Carlos, breaks into an enormous smile and waves, calling out, "Carlos! You're here!"

Carlos grabs two fistfuls of curly white dog hair to steady himself. "Ce-Cecil?"

At Doug's nod, the masked warriors indulgently move out of the way for Cecil to jog over. He stops a few feet away, nods at the Bichon Frisé and says, "So that's Alicia's dog? Oh, he's adorable, Alicia!"

Carlos can't move, can only stare. A tiny irrational part of him snidely comments that this is an awful long way to come, just to break up with someone. The rest of his mind is stunned into inarticulate disbelief. "Whah..." Carlos tries to stammer. "How...where..."

Cecil's smile is so broad it's getting a little strained around the edges. "Hi, Carlos. You did ask me to visit, so, um, I hope you don't mind me just showing up like this..."

" _Mind_?" Carlos gasps out, his own still refusing to engage. "Why—how—"

Alicia's dog sniffs experimentally at Cecil, then yips in thunderous approval. Cecil scratches its head behind the doormat-wide ears, and that casual tactility finally convinces Carlos that he's not hallucinating from sunstroke.

He's still hesitant as he reaches out, but Cecil's arm is solid when Carlos pokes it. And the rest of him is just as present when Carlos throws his arms around him.

Cecil hugs back, squeezing tightly enough to make Carlos's ribs ache, and doesn't let go until Carlos does. They lean back only far enough to make eye contact, and then Cecil lunges for a kiss and Carlos tries to beat him to it. Their teeth clink before they succeed in aligning, and then Cecil's hands are buried in Carlos's sandy hair and Carlos is exploring the unlikely dexterity and physiology of Cecil's tongue with his own—holy Heisenberg, is it forked now, or has he grown a second?—and it's either so hot or so sweet that Carlos can't breathe. Or maybe that's because he didn't bother catching his breath after the hug.

When they finally stop, Carlos panting for air and Cecil humming a slightly sharp G, Doug and Alicia and the other masked warriors have courteously withdrawn to busy themselves with various tasks around the camp.

Carlos's hands are wrapped around Cecil's arms, not to hold him in place but because he can't make his fingers let go. Besides, he's not sure he trusts his knees yet to support him. "Cecil, what are you doing here? _How_ are you here? Is everything all right in Night Vale, is—"

"Everything's fine, last I heard. And I came through the House that doesn't exist, the day before yesterday," Cecil says. "I've been walking around looking for you; then this afternoon I found one of the masked warriors, or maybe she found me. She brought me to Doug, and he recognized me right away—he said you talk about me all the time?" Cecil looks inordinately pleased.

"Statistically speaking, you're the person I talk about the most," Carlos distractedly confirms. "Cecil, why didn't you tell me you were coming? I've been calling, but I haven't been able to reach you; I was so—so worried..."

"I'm very sorry about that," Cecil tells him. "I'm afraid my phone didn't make it through the contract negotiations with Station Management intact, and then I didn't have a chance to get a replacement until right before I left town, and I'm still waiting for my transdimensional minutes to change over. I should've looked into the plans sooner, but I've been so busy this last week, recording sponsor spots and PSAs—"

"Hold on," Carlos says, "Station Management? Aren't contract negotiations usually in the summer?"

"Usually, but I couldn't wait," Cecil says. "Earl told me I should go for it—that I'd regret it, if I didn't. And really, now that I'm here I'm excited to start; there's going to be so much to do—"

"To do?"

Cecil opens the the messenger bag hanging over his shoulder, takes out a portable microphone and a laminated badge. "As NVCR's Senior Otherworld Correspondent!—Also only, but 'senior' earns me equivalent pay to my salary as host. I officially started two days ago."

"Senior Otherworld..." Carlos gapes at the microphone and shiny new lanyard Cecil is proudly brandishing. "How did you convince Management...?"

Cecil looks genuinely if briefly affronted. "Carlos! A gentleman never reveals his blackmail material. Unless he doesn't get the new career opportunity he requested, of course. Besides, this place is significant to Night Vale, what with the rumbling and the light and our former allies the wandering armies; and while your updates have been helpful, you're not a professional journalist. Management—eventually—agreed we could use some boots-on-the-sand reporting."

"So you've been permanently assigned here?"

"To the otherworld in general—but I have it on very good authority that this desert is the most interesting place here, so that's where I should be!" Cecil says. "And not permanently, but for the next six months, after which Maureen will have earned her college credit, and I'll have to be back in the studio, or else... Actually, regarding that, one of the things I'm planning to investigate is those doors, where they vanished to, and how they might be convinced to reappear. And maybe...if in six months he's done enough science here, to be willing to try another experiment...report on how a scientist can go through them, to get back to Night Vale?"

"Is...is that really newsworthy?" Carlos asks. "A scientist, walking through a door?"

"Oh, yes," Cecil assures. "Absolutely! Everyone in Night Vale would tune in for that. If your scientific schedule allows it, of course." He smiles at Carlos, understanding, but hopeful.

"Well..." Six more months will give Carlos a full year of Otherworldly study—possibly more, depending on the discrepant flow of local and Night Vale time. Potentially enough time to not only find a door, but figure out how to safely prop it open. Even if that isn't possible, a year is long enough to reach a real understanding of something. Though he's sure to be leaving some work unfinished...

But then, he's left so many experiments unfinished in Night Vale, too. Now that Strex is gone, he'll be able to resume his tests on the bloodstones. And have there been any new breakthroughs about the House that Doesn't Exist? 

What about their own house, for that matter? Cecil hates mowing the lawn; how long has it gotten in the winter drizzles? And has the bandersnatch ever escaped the nailed-shut closet? And do all the pillows still mysteriously migrate to Cecil's side of the bed every night?

As interesting as this desert is—more interesting by an order of magnitude, now that Cecil is here to see it in person; Carlos can barely decide what to show him first—even scientists do get homesick. 

Carlos wraps his arms around Cecil's waist, grinning back at him. "In that case, how could I let the listeners down?"


End file.
